Like Romans Do
by CircleSky
Summary: What if Rory hadn't fallen asleep during her study date with Marty? Would Marty have mustered the courage to tell her how he feels?
1. Entering Peyton Place, Population 9875

This story takes place after episode 5.09 Emily Says Hello. The first 7 paragraphs are basically taken from that episode to set the scene.

What would've happened if Rory hadn't fallen asleep during her study date with Marty? Would Marty have mustered the courage to tell her how he feels?

I do not own the characters.

**Chapter 1. Now Entering Peyton Place, Population 9875 **

Marty sat on his bed in his cluttered little dorm room and leaned against the wall. Rory, who lay back against his pillow, had needled her toes in behind him and was contentedly warming them against the small of his back. Though the touch was platonic, Marty thought perhaps it brought him even more pleasure than it did her.

"I broke up with my boyfriend this week," Rory explained, after he'd asked her about her troubles. "That was fun. In front of a bunch of people at my grandmother's house. And then, 'cause apparently that wasn't enough Peyton Place for me, I have this whole thing going with my dad who's suddenly back in my life again."

"Yeah dads can be tough," Marty said, reminded of his own soap-operatic life.

"I spent so many years just… well I couldn't wait 'til he showed up and now he's showing up and… I don't know… I'm just really tired." Rory lay back on Marty's pillow, her legs making even greater contact with Marty's torso now, and warming him as well.

With all that had happened recently in his own life, Marty felt that this was a subject he could contribute to. "You know, once I found out my father wasn't really my father, we started getting along much better."

"Stop it," she chided, amused.

"I'm serious. Suddenly the pressure was off. If something happens I don't have to automatically give him the kidney. I can weigh my options. It was a real turning point in our relationship," he joked dryly.

"Come on. You'd still give him the kidney." When Marty only smiled, she added, "Admit it."

Marty chuckled. "Probably," he admitted sheepishly. "If it matched."

"So do you call him Dad or Uncle or what?"

"We're still smoothing out the edges on that. Sometimes I'll call him by his first name – Rick – but the other day, I was about to call him Dad and I caught myself and it came out like "Dick" instead. From the way he looked at me, I'm not sure if he took it as a short form of Richard or as a body part." Marty smiled when Rory giggled. "It's cool though. I usually call him Rick, baring any slips of the tongue."

"It sounds so… amazing. What's it like to suddenly find out your dad's not your dad?"

"I know," Marty agreed. "I don't know what I could compare it to. It's exactly as freaky as it sounds. There's this man, and you've called him Dad all your life, and he's called you Son, and he's raised you and enforced the rules and, although you don't see eye to eye, he's called all the shots. And then one day, twenty years later, you and your dad walk into the kitchen…" Marty gestured in a "Behold This" way. "And your mother is sitting there at the table. And she's looking at you so seriously that you expect she's gonna tell you you only have three months left to live. And then she just drops this bombshell: she had an affair with her brother-in-law… oh, about nine months before you were born."

"Wow."

Marty absentmindedly toyed with a frayed hem on his pillow, weighing his words before continuing. "So suddenly, I'm looking at this man that I thought was my father and I'm realizing why we're such different personalities. And in the process, I'm realizing that I have to accept the fact that I'm me and that I'm not necessarily who he'd like me to be."

Rory nodded. "Yeah."

"What's even more weird is that Uncle Jerry is my real father – and he doesn't even know it yet."

"No!"

"Yeah. My mom hasn't told him yet. Meanwhile, I've been avoiding seeing him. It's too weird. I mean I barely know the guy but, from the things I do know, I'm starting to realize how much he sounds like me. And the last time I saw him, I was staring at him like some kind of psychotic. I don't want to creep the poor guy out but I just can't stop staring now."

Throughout Marty's words, Rory was attentively listening, occasionally nodding. Now she spoke up. "Some of it kind of sounds like my family. I never knew much about mine either, until I was fifteen. What I did know was from strained holiday dinners and from my mother's stories."

Rory absently twirled her pen like a baton as she continued. "Then we started having the Friday night dinners and it was the first time I really got to know them. I discovered that they weren't entirely evil, the way my mom sometimes made them sound. I've discovered that I actually like some of the things about them that my mom always hated. I completely understand what you mean about getting to know myself in the process of getting to know them. Until recently it was like my family was my mom and that's it – and now I realize how much of a family we all are and how they are all a part of me."

Through the wall thumped the baseline of a rock tune but, safe in the confines of Marty's bedroom, the two fell into an easy silence, each lost in their own thoughts of family and personal identity. Rory's earlier words also rang in Marty's head. She'd said she'd broken up with her boyfriend. Despite the fact that Marty had broached the subject with her once before, it was the first time she'd even admitted to having one. Marty spoke as casually as he knew how. "So you broke up with your boyfriend?"

Rory's eyes flickered downward. "Yeah. Dean," she said, nodding.

"Ah. Dean," he repeated, rolling the name over his tongue. She'd mentioned Dean before but, until now, it had never been in the "boyfriend" context. "Which one of you broke it off?" he dared ask. "Or was it mutual?"

"It was his idea," she frowned.

"That's tough," he replied with commiseration.

"I'll be fine," she asserted, her expression a stoic indifference layered over tender vulnerability. He could tell from her manner that she was hurt, though her voice was strong.

Marty regarded her carefully. Inside, he was torn. The idea that her boyfriend was out of the picture tickled hope in his heart. However, he never wanted to see Rory unhappy. Knowing that her break up with Dean made her sad hit him over the head like a dread-filled lead weight.

"Were you very close to him?" he asked, stealing another glance in her eyes.

"Yes… No. Um."

Marty couldn't help but smile at her faltering. "Or is it 'D. All of the above'?"

"Well," she tried to explain. "Dean and I are very close in the sense that, we've been together practically forever. We've shared so many firsts... Well," she admitted after a breath. "They were mostly all my firsts, his seconds. But anyway, I love him because of all we've shared together, you know what I mean?"

Marty pursed his lips, identifying with her nostalgia. Rory met his eyes and he waited, silently nodding, for her to continue. When she finally spoke, he listened carefully, heart beating rapidly in the hopes of hearing that her love for Dean was based only in nostalgia.

"But the thing is, he's got a temper. Like, he gets jealous, and often it's over something – or someone – that's less important to me than he is."

Rory gestured in futility, then pulled a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was low and even. "And as a result, I've kept things from him, in the past, so as to purposely avoid him flying off the handle. If I'm hiding things from him, then I guess I can't really say that we were close, can I? I guess you could say that we had a problem with communication. Everything was always so black and white to him. I could never explain the greys."

With furrowed brow, she continued, agitated. "I'm a little mad at him, actually. He broke up with me because I was fifteen minutes late for our date."

Marty, who'd been idly playing with a pillow thread as he listened to her story, froze. His eyebrows shot up and his expression grew incredulous. "Really? That's the reason?"

"Well…" Rory faltered, shadows playing across her face. "I guess it didn't help that I was late because of a whole bunch of guys. They all followed me out to meet him. But still…" she drifted off, her eyes imploring.

"Bunch of guys?" Her admission seemed a little odd to Marty, at least the way she'd phrased it, but any notion of misdoings was easily squelched. "Did Dean meet you at a sailors' dance hall, or what?"

"Might as well have been." Rory chuckled. She indicated an imaginary marquee across the sky. "'Presenting Rory Gilmore. Ten cents a dance.' But no, it was at my own grandparents' house. They rooked me into attending this meat market set-up party."

"A what?" Marty smiled.

"They invited all of their Yale friends' Yale sons to a party. All those boys… and me," she finished simply. "Ugh! As soon as I saw that, I wanted to run."

"They did, huh?" Marty smirked. "I'm not sure which sounds more bizarre, this party or you dancing for dollars down at the marina."

"Yeah. It was crazy. I swear I was the only girl within a thousand miles; they certainly saw to that. It was humiliating." Rory shook her head. "As if I were so pathetic I couldn't even get a date on my own. I'm a little mad at them too actually," she muttered. "If they hadn't done that, I'd still be with Dean."

The smirk dried up on Marty's face. "So your grandparents threw this party which you would've rather not been at; the Yale Sailors Club keeps you a little late; and Dean breaks up with you? It seems like a minor infraction on your part."

"You're telling me. Sometimes it seems like he blows things right out of proportion."

"Then maybe he isn't worth your while." Marty spoke quietly. "Maybe you're better off without him."

Rory sighed and Marty bit his lip, afraid his suggestion had crossed the line. Although he was tempted to throw a couple figurative stones at the other boy, he didn't want to be offensive. It was a minute or two of Marty's trepidation before she replied. "Maybe. But, like I said, we've been through a lot together: breakups, makeups. He was my first kiss. He was my first lover-" Rory stopped herself and met Marty's gaze, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.

Marty's eye darted to her reclined posture before focusing on the bookshelf across the room. She was sweet and soft lying there. He didn't want to think about her hot and heavy with anyone else. I mean with anyone at all, he amended, feeling the need to censor his thoughts. He could feel his own cheeks burn a bit. "Well, if you've shared all… those things with him, then it makes sense you're having a hard time saying goodbye. That is, if you're saying goodbye."

"What do you mean 'if'?"

"You might still be able to get back together with him, if that's what you wanted," he stated, wishing he'd held his tongue.

"I need to move my legs," she interjected, referring to how her feet were tucked neatly behind the small of Marty's back.

"Oh! Yeah." Marty blinked. He leaned forward and she rolled onto her back, pulling her knees up and to the side. He leaned back against the cold wall.

"I hate the fact that he's out of my life again," Rory admitted, her voice growing hoarse. Marty turned away from her expression and played idly with the lever on his 3 ring binder. He really hoped she wouldn't cry. He needn't have worried though. She took a breath and her voice became strong again. "But to answer your question, no. I'm thinking maybe he's right. Maybe we do belong in different worlds."

"Hmm…"

"I feel bad though. He left Lindsay to be with me."

"Lindsay?"

"His wife."

"Whoa."

"Yeah."

"How old is he?"

"Our age. Going on 20."

"Hmm," Marty uttered in thoughtful staccato. "I'm seeing a whole new section of the 'Rory' portrait now."

"I know. This is the part of the picture I'd rather not reveal. I hate to admit I broke up a marriage, but I have. You know, I should've been stronger and resisted," Rory chided herself. "I never pictured myself as a home wrecker."

"I certainly never did," Marty added in newfound amazement.

"Do you think less of me?"

"Not really," Marty replied vaguely, as he wondered what it was he truly felt about Rory. Here she was. She was so much more to Marty than just a pretty face and he was beginning to learn that there was more to her than he'd even imagined. Intelligence and comic wit sparkled through her ice-blue doe eyes. She was the embodiment of an independent spirit tempered by timidity – a timidity that begged him to take her into his arms and offer her safety.

Tonight, under the low light of his desk lamp, it was merely her softness which showed through. To say that he cared for her was an understatement. But he wondered now, did he really know her?

"Maybe I was just lonely," she wondered, lost in thought. "Sometimes I think I don't know how to be alone… but I don't know how to be with anybody either."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I keep going back to Dean. It's like when I'm alone, I go running to him because he's safe but when I'm with him, I don't know how to stay with him. When I'm with him, my eyes wander."

"If your eyes are wandering, then they must be looking for something that's missing." Rory nodded, encouraging Marty to continue. "I'm sure you'll meet someone who fills in the blanks."

"I hope I don't. I don't want to be with anybody anymore."

After a moment, Marty nodded, the feeling of dry chalk in his throat. "Right. Dating's overrated."

_ooo_

_Please review and tell me what you think!_


	2. Marty's Demons

**Chapter 2. Marty's Demons**

"So what about you? We've heard my whole sordid story. Why do you think dating's so overrated?" Rory asked him.

"I'm not really basing that on anything in particular." Marty shrugged the question off, hoping to change the subject. The truth was, he didn't agree with the statement. That night, he and Rory were relaxing comfortably in a close proximity. It felt good. If Marty tuned out the conversation about her boyfriend woes, it was fairly easy for him to imagine dating Rory. Wrapped in the cozy haze of daydream, he could picture it being pretty great. But Rory's burning eyes encouraged him to join in on the love bashing, and, truthfully, Marty could relate to that as well. He'd had his share of dating pains.

"Are you basing it on anything in general?" she prodded in a way that wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Marty sighed. "I don't have a lot of luck with women," he admitted, finally throwing himself into the discussion.

"No? Why not?" came her gentle reply.

"Maybe I just haven't met the right girl yet," he dodged, studying the pillow on his lap and plucking at the thread again.

"But surely there've been girls you've liked."

"Oops!" wide-eyed Marty interjected, after having pulled on the thread a little too strongly. Three or four rows in the corner of the pillow had come loose. With guilt, he put the pillow away. "Well sure but…it never seems to work out the way I'd planned it. I've dated a bit but never really anything serious."

"Why not serious?"

With no pillow to focus his attention on, Marty took a moment to ponder the question. Why _was_ it he'd never had any meaningful romantic relationships? It certainly wasn't for lack of interesting women, because Marty could readily think of at least a dozen or so girls who'd meant something to him at various times in his life. The more he thought about it, though, the more he sensed a pattern emerging. He'd only ever dated girls that he could distance himself from – a long line of casual, sometimes meaningless, dates. In between those dates were the truly special girls whom he'd never taken a chance on. And when he traced the pattern back through time, he remembered Julie.

Julie had been Marty's best friend until grade ten. After years of studying together and hanging out with her and their mutual friends, Marty had realized, in grade ten, that he'd had a crush on her. After living with those feelings in secret for a while, he finally got up the nerve to tell her. When he asked her out at Leroy Wilkinson's party one fateful evening, her devastating response had been that, although she thought Marty was a great guy, he was really better as a friend. Three months later, she'd begun dating Kenneth Grant who was "So cute!"

Of course Marty and Julie had decided to remain friends, but the die was cast. Marty no longer felt comfortable being near her, feeling the way that he did – and knowing, with great mortification, that his crush was out in the open and completely unreciprocated. After Marty's admission, things were strained between them, Kenneth became a real sore spot and, just like that, their friendship fell apart. He'd lost one of his best friends; it had all blown up because he'd asked her out. Even tonight, as Marty sat with Rory and was totally un-enamoured over Julie, he chastised himself.

Since then, Marty had held back when it came to girls he liked. It wasn't that he was scared to talk to girls; in contrast it usually came quite naturally to him. It was just that, since he'd blown things with Julie, Marty just hadn't had the confidence in himself. He never had faith in a girl's reciprocated love. It wasn't long after Julie that Marty had decided: he would not confess a crush on a friend unless he could be sure that she felt the same way. There was just too much to risk otherwise.

So the bulk of Marty's dates had been with girls with whom he'd shared little in common. There was less possibility of getting hurt that way. But this procedure had taken a toll on Marty as well. In his first and second years at Yale he'd met many interesting women and the truth was he was starting to get a little bit lonely.

That was partly the reason he'd asked Rory about her boyfriend at Asher Fleming's wake. It had been no piece of cake for Marty to spit out that tiny little question. His knees had been weak and his beer precariously close to slipping from his sweaty hand. But he'd asked it. It had been a small victory. Her response, though cryptic, had further spelled it out for him: she was not interested in flirting with Marty.

"To be honest, I'm finding that, a lot of the time, the girls I really like would rather just be friends," Marty murmured.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I just don't think I'm a 'date him' kind of guy," he grumbled. "I'm the guy they come to for advice about the guys they have crushes on." _This very conversation is a case in point_, he thought.

"I see."

"Like we'd start out as friends… but then my feelings change and theirs don't. It's like, I take that stroll down _More-Than-Friends Lane_ and then turn around and they're still sitting behind in _Hey-Just-Friends, Buddy-Ville_! They're never on the same wavelength.

"And I've had crushes on my sister's friends before," Marty added, thinking of another additive to his introversion. "And my sister – half sister as it turns out – would tell them about it and they'd all roll on the floor laughing like I was so silly."

"That's mean," Rory empathized.

"Well, they _were_ a year older than me. But still, it's like I'm just not that appealing to girls."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Oh yeah?" Marty wondered curiously. She shifted her position on his bed again and, when Marty realized she wanted to stretch out her legs, he placed them across his blanket-clad lap. While Rory looked much more comfortable afterwards, he spent the next few seconds trying to decide where he should put his arms. Finally he settled with draping them casually across her ankles.

"Yeah," she stressed. "You've got a lot to offer. I mean look at you; you're a great guy. You're really interesting, really considerate. You've got this cute, quirky sense of humour that I love. You have a lot to contribute to a relationship and you're good looking to boot. I don't know why you're so down on yourself."

For a moment, Marty sat back against the wall slack-jawed, stunned at all the good things she'd said about him. That same weak knee-ed feeling came over him and, perhaps ahead of himself, he began to wonder if this was the reciprocation he'd been waiting for. But before the adrenaline-rushed stupor drained out of his body, Rory went on, "I mean, I _personally know_ how great a friend you are, I'm sure you have boyfriend potential also."

Marty blinked, starting to come down, though still somewhat in a daze. He realized she wasn't referring to herself. Trying not to let disappointment colour his words, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Well. I'm not bad, I guess. I don't know, I just I don't have the words to, you know… encourage them," Marty stumbled. "I don't have the words to… I just don't know what to say to a girl that I really like. And they never initiate anything..." Marty stopped as an idea occurred to him. "Do you think I discourage them? Women, I mean," he speculated. "Do you think I come across as too… something-or-other?"

"You come across as Marty. You seem like a well-rounded, great guy," she replied with conviction. "There's a lot to love about you, Marty. And if they don't recognize it, you can send them to my door and I'll personally give them What For."

Marty nodded numbly, her praise a double-edged sword. "I'm glad I have you in my corner."

"Anytime.

_It's just as well that Rory doesn't feel the same way_, he thought. Marty, had a suspicion that maybe it wasn't the best time for a relationship anyway. Rory was fresh from a break-up with someone she obviously cared about. And Marty, well, he probably needed to deal with his own demons first. Suddenly Marty felt a bit like he'd been put through a conversational wringer. "I love my dog," Marty commented wistfully, thinking of the buoyant manner with which his Labrador trotted inhis parents' yard. "He's so uncomplicated."

Rory, however, wasn't ready to drop the subject. "Do you let them know how you feel, Marty? Girls, I mean. Maybe they just don't know."

"I don't really know how to, I guess." Marty shrugged. "Now my brother… he's always been really good with girls. You could call him Lothario," Marty stated with due respect. "I just don't have the way with them that he does. It's no wonder he's only my half brother."

"You really look up to your brother, huh?"

"No. He's a moron. But he does have his good qualities. And luck with the ladies is one of them."

Rory chuckled but was still deep in thought. "Maybe you just need more practice asking girls out."

"Practice?"

"Yeah, practice," she stressed, certainty now flavouring her words. "You need to get on that horse, Marty! And I know I'm not an expert and my own love life is certainly less than inspiring, but maybe I can help. Is there anyone that you like right now?"

Marty blinked. "Uh. Yeah…"

"Ok. Dish. Tell me about her. What's her name? What's she like?"

Her sudden vigour caught Marty off guard. There was no way he could admit to Rory that she was the girl he liked the most. Suffering palpitations, he scrambled for an answer to give her. "D-Dawn," he said as soon as he could, naming a girl whom he knew only vaguely. He really wished he'd changed the subject when he'd had the chance.

"Ok." Rory smiled and sat up, her legs slipping smoothly off his lap, as though she and Marty were now getting down to important business. "And how do you know Dawn? Do you have any classes together?"

"Yeah. One." He shrugged again. He was decidedly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. "But I know her through Ultimate. She plays too. That's how I know her."

"Ultimate?"

"Ultimate Frisbee. The sport."

"Oh right, you mentioned that before. She plays with you and your guy friends?" Rory asked, curiosity covering her animated face.

"And other girls. It's a co-ed sport."

"Oh. I see. So… Dawn," she swooned. "Do you know her well?"

"Not really, no. I don't know her that well."

Surprised, Rory stated, "There must be something you know about her."

Marty really wished he hadn't dragged poor, innocent Dawn into a tangled web of lies. However, the way Rory was devouring the details he gave her, he felt unable drop the subject. He wracked his brain for some neutral item to reveal. "I know she wears her hair in a long braid a lot. It's blond."

"Okay…" Rory drawled, as though humouring him in his cluelessness. "That's a start. What else? What colour are her eyes?"

"I'm not sure what colour her eyes are."

"You mean you haven't stared longingly into them," Rory teased, half in jest. "Marvelling at how they're framed by the most perfect eyelashes?"

Marty laughed at her cute display. "Boy you really are a romantic, aren't you?"

"I'm just trying to get the scoop on her and you're not giving me much to work with here."

"Sorry. I really don't know that much about her."

"That's not good, Marty."

"It's not?"

"No!" Rory stressed, eyeing him like a predator. "You have some major work to do."

"I do?"

"Yes. You do. The next time you see her, I want you to chat her up a bit. Sit next to her in class; borrow her pen. Find out what you have in common – after the prof's done his lecture, of course," she added in true Rory fashion. "And the next time I see you I want you to be able to tell me what her major is," Rory ticked items off on her fingers. "What her favourite class is, her favourite movie, and song. _And_ what colour her eyes are also," Rory stressed, excited at the prospect of new love. The only thing absent from Rory's girlish ramble was the dictation of soft sexy music to accompany Marty's seduction of poor, innocent bystander Dawn.

"And above all else," Rory added. "Show your stuff, Mister! When is the next time you see her?"

"On Monday."

"I'm gonna test you on Tuesday."

"Oh. Geez."

"And speaking of tests…" Rory segued, looking at her textbook.

"Right." Marty caught on to her train of thought and was nearly ecstatic to finally be changing the subject. "We have a pile of stuff to study if we're gonna be ready for that test on Thursday. We should really go over it some more tonight."

"Yes. We should," she said, cracking the book to chapter 9. "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook about Dawn. So, where were we?" Her voice trailed off as she flipped through pages. "Oh yeah, what started the war in 49 BC? And you're right, it had something to do with Rome."

"Umm…" Marty hummed, a look of pain crossing his forehead until a thought occurred to him. "Oh yeah. Julius Caesar conquered Gaul in 51 BC and then returned to _Rome_," he stressed with a finger point, excited to finally remember. "With his legions in 49 BC."

"Right! Now why was this a problem?"

"I don't know."

"Nooo…" Rory cooed, flipping through her notes. After giving Marty time to think, Rory answered, "Because commanders weren't allowed to take theirs soldiers outside their provinces without permission from the Senate."

"Right. Ah!" he cried in frustration. "I will never get this stuff!"

"Just keep plugging away at it. You'll get it. After all, Marty, Rome wasn't built in a day," she quipped.

"I'm really lacking your optimism."

"Well then sucks to be you, My Friend," Rory commiserated off-handedly.

Marty studied Rory's head, bent down over her textbook, and nodded. "You have no idea."

_ooo_

_Please review and let me know what you think!_


	3. The Ultimate Day

**Chapter 3. The Ultimate Day**

Thursday of the following week held the promise of a beautiful fall afternoon. Marty had just spent the last hour in a sunlit classroom, trying to absorb Professor Staigleton's drone and trying to ignore the Siren call of the outdoors. Marty cared about his classes a great deal. It was a wonderful opportunity for him to even be at Yale, but that day, once Professor Staigleton listed the reading material and announced the end of his lecture, Marty was practically the first one out the door.

Marty slung his backpack over his shoulder and ducked out of the swarm of students heading for the main doors of Connecticut Hall, taking a shortcut through an unassuming side door. Within moments he'd burst into the sunshine.

It was a bit nippy so he zipped up his jacket. And, for that, he couldn't help but smile. It was perfect weather for a pick-up game of Ultimate Frisbee – not too cold to run around in a t-shirt and not too hot to drown in sweat. As he headed to the field frequented by his friends, his backpack bouncing over his eager footsteps, he knew he wouldn't be the only one who felt that way.

As Marty neared the field, he could make out a small group already congregating. Of the five people there, Marty recognized Rob, Dino, Tynile and Dawn. Walking up, he announced a resounding hello and they chorused back in kind. After an introduction, he also exchanged brief pleasantries with the one girl in the group whom he didn't recognize, Tynile's friend Deb. Afterwards Marty asked eagerly, "So, you guys starting a game?"

"We were just talkin' about that," Dino replied. "John's getting his disc as we speak."

"Cool. My dorm's just over there. I'm gonna change my shoes and drop this off," Marty said, referring to the thick texts strapped to his back. Marty was already backing away from the group, heading in the direction of Branford.

"Hurry back," commented Tynile. "Here comes John now."

"Ok. I'll be quick. You guys can start. I'll be right back." Marty turned around, his impatient feet setting off at a trot.

"You playing?" John asked, as they passed each other on the path to the dorms.

"Yup. Just changing."

"Well don't change too much," John quipped. "We need someone with your height to mark against Rob!"

Marty laughed. "Yeah. Right."

At his dorm, Marty threw his keys on the shelf and dropped his backpack with a reverberating thud at the foot of his bed. He changed into sweat pants – the one's his sister swore were too geeky to wear in public but which Marty felt so comfortable wearing and simply could not justify throwing out. He pulled an old Yale Bulldogs sweatshirt over his t-shirt, grabbed an oversized thermos of cool water, and ten minutes later he was jogging back to the game.

Rob, Dawn and Dino had apparently just scored a point because, when Marty arrived, John, Tynile and Deb were commencing the "Walk of Shame" to their respective end zone.

John called out when he saw Marty. "Hey great! You're back! They're already leading by three points."

"Then I guess I'm with you guys," Marty replied as he tossed his thermos to the makeshift sideline and lined up next to his adopted teammates. "So what's the game plan, Guys?" he asked, only half serious.

"To score a point," Tynile chimed in, as though she were revealing a hush-hush secret of the trade.

"And to not get slaughtered," added John as he put a hand up signalling they were ready to start. Across the field Rob wound up and threw the disc. It sailed towards them – a clean, soaring pull which covered nearly the full length of the field. Marty, Tynile and Deb raced ahead as John fell back to pick up the disc. The match had begun and Marty's team circled the field on offence while the others blocked and marked an equally good defence.

Even with the cool, autumn wind filtering through the field, after two points of outright sprinting, Marty was cooking hot. He took a personal time out and jogged to the sidelines, stripping himself of his second-layer sweater. He tossed the garment onto the ground and was just about to take a gulp of water from his thermos when he heard someone call his name. Lowering the container from his lips, he turned and scanned the crowds of commuting students.

Marty's eyes fell on the only figure heading straight across the grass towards him. The figure was Logan Huntzburger, and that could only mean that there would be another party down at the frat.

"I don't mean to interrupt your little game here," Logan apologized flippantly, no doubt unaware of how condescending his comment came across.

Marty cringed but quickly ignored the other guy's arrogance. Another job opportunity was always welcome. "No worries. What's up?" he offered brightly.

"Saturday," Logan began knowingly. "Saturday is going to be a great day - and Saturday night is going to be even better."

"Why is that?" Marty replied, playing along with Logan's theatrics.

"I'm speaking about a little soiree taking place at GKE. Can you be there? Set up at seven?"

"Seven, huh," Marty repeated thoughtfully as he considered. Deciding that he was available that Saturday night, he made a mental note of the particulars that Logan gave him and accepted a shift.

"I knew I could count on you, Flanagan," Logan said with a characteristic smile before turning away. It was Logan's ongoing joke to refer to Marty as Brian Flanagan, ever since Colin had snidely asked if he'd seen Marty in the movie _Cocktail_. Marty supposed, however, that it was better to be referred to as a Tom Cruise character than as one of the ladies from _Coyote Ugly_.

Logan, halfway down the field, called over his shoulder, "And brush up on your Whiskey Sours, 'cause I'm gonna be needing some of those." Marty shook his head wryly, took a swig of his water and then returned to his game.

The score was tied by the time Marty's friend, Steven, arrived, evening the teams at four players each. But despite the addition of Steven's efforts, some twenty minutes later, Marty's team had amassed a sizable lead. That lead began to rapidly deplete, however, after the arrival of another newcomer, Len. They were now outnumbered by one and the extra player ran circles around them, breaking up most of their plays.

It was during his team's one particular "Walk of Shame" that Marty noticed Rory coming along the path towards them. Marty hadn't seen her since last Sunday and she was a sight for sore eyes. "Hey Rory!" he called out to her and she waved back. He met her on the sideline. "Long time no see. Where've you been?"

"Chained to a desk at the Herald. Uh," she grunted, clutching a binder to her chest. "I'm so behind at the paper. Did I mention how everyone else had amazing summers while I rested on my laurels?"

She'd begun many conversations lately with that very topic. "No, I hadn't heard," Marty teased.

"I'm so behind and I can't get the ideas flowing," She sighed as she rubbed her brow. "And I've been sitting in front of my computer so long, I think my eyes have turned rectangular and my butt's gone flat."

"Are you coming, Marty?" John called from the end zone. "We won't have a hope if we're outnumbered by two."

"Yeah!" Marty called back, as a long shot idea occurred to him. "Hey, we're outnumbered, and you need a cure for Rectangular-Eyed Flat Butt Syndrome. The best thing for both of us is for you to come play with us." Marty offered his most winning smile.

Rory chuckled. "How is my playing going to help either of us? What I need is a soak in a nice, hot bath," she added wistfully.

Marty slipped his fingers under the strap of her book bag and pulled it down off her shoulder. He also pulled the binder from her arms. She protested meekly but didn't stop him. He dropped both by his water bottle and exclaimed to his teammates, "I'm coming – and so's Rory!"

The others cheered in appreciation while Rory let loose with a very different reaction. "No way," she stated with a mixture of laughter, worry and determination. "You don't want me playing. I'm not dressed right. I'm wearing Keds."

"There's no dress code. Look at me." He considered letting her go to Branford to change, but decided that, if he did, she'd likely not come back. Marty placed an arm around her shoulders and gently guided her onto the field. "Besides, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

"All that studying has fried your brain. In case you hadn't noticed, we're a loooong way from Rome."

"Then what was with all those guys in togas we saw last week?" he joked.

She tried again, ignoring his joke and attempting to weasel out of his grasp, "But I don't even know how to play."

Marty stopped walking, his arm still around her shoulders, and she ceased squirming long enough to look at his face. "Do you know how to throw a Frisbee?" he asked.

"Yeah," she admitted warily.

"Then all you need to know is how to run and how to catch. I think you can handle it." When she still didn't bite, he added. "Have I ever steered you wrong before?"

Rory unleashed a quirky smile which Marty immediately found contagious. "No," she admitted. Her body language laced with resignment, she allowed him to lead her onto the field.

"Okay then," Marty said with excitement. Soon they caught up to the others at the end zone and Marty ran through some quick introductions.

"Glad you came out to play," John welcomed warmly and Tynile and Deb reiterated the sentiment.

"Well, I didn't really," Rory mumbled, amazed she'd been roped in. "I'm not an athlete."

"Neither are we. We're geeks through and through." Tynile assured her jokingly.

Deb protested meekly. "_I'm not_ a geek. I just…" she trailed off with a flick of her wrist, having no suitable substitution at her disposal. "Okay fine." The others laughed at her unwitting confession of geekhood.

"Actually," Rory admitted. "I don't know how to play."

"The only rule is to have fun," Tynile encouraged.

"Okay," Rory said and shrugged. "But what do I do? I'm sure that's not the _only_ rule."

Marty pointed to Dino, who was holding the disc at the other end of the field. "When he throws the disc, you start running that way. One of us will try to throw it to you."

"That doesn't sound good," Rory interjected. "May I suggest that I sit on the sideline and watch while you throw it to someone else?" Marty just smiled and continued.

"Now those guys." He was still pointing downfield. "They're gonna try to keep the disc away from you, so you try to dodge them." Rory nodded dully as he added, "You have to try to keep the disc away from them as well."

"Let's make this easier. Don't throw the disc to me at all."

"There's a pretty good chance we will!" Tynile winked. "Don't worry! You'll be fine!"

"But what would I do with the disc even if you did?"

"If the disc comes to you, just catch it and stop running." Tynile elaborated. "Then you try to throw it to one of us."

"Just catch it and stop running," Rory recited as though cramming her brain with essential details. "Oh, Boy," she lamented.

"Watch the disc and catch it if you can," Marty reiterated. "To get a point, one of us has to catch the disc in the other end zone."

"Here comes the disc," John announced jovially as he, again, dropped back to receive it.

"Here we go!" Marty called out as he and the others took off downfield.

"I'm sure he meant 'Here goes nothing,'" Rory murmured as she reluctantly chased after them.

As he ran, Marty kept tabs on Rory when he could, and he smiled often. She was usually well behind the play, and it was obvious to anyone who saw her that she was not sporty by nature. She was the very picture of, "You throw like a girl," and, even with the pointers she gratefully accepted from the other players, she looked completely lost on the field.

But, Marty thought as his lungs began to ache from exertion, she hadn't put up much of a fight when he'd dragged her on field, and she actually seemed fairly enthusiastic about playing. And, he decided warmly, her manner of "playing" was definitely cute.

Putting Rory's charm on the backburner, Marty cycled back into the stack and focused on Rob, who was facing him with a solid mark. Marty charged directly towards him, so that the other guy would have no choice but to turn round to keep up. When Rob did, therefore losing sight of Marty, Marty took off full force in the opposite direction. "Tynile!" he called once he'd successfully dodged his opponent. She answered with a fake for her own mark, Dawn, and a flick of her wrist, sending a clean throw to Marty downfield. Instantly changing gears, she dashed ahead of Dawn. Marty was able to get a quick shot back to Tynile on the give and go.

By some alignment of the cosmos, at that very moment, Rory was running into a clearing while also keeping a watchful eye on the whereabouts of the disc. Tynile demonstrated another graceful throw which found itself landing straight into the fumbling grasp of Rory who, dutifully, remembered to stop running once she'd caught it.

"Alright!" Rory exclaimed joyously, but with the choking sound of someone who'd been running faster than she could breathe. "I caught it!"

Just then, Len jumped up beside her, arms outstretched, and preceded with an aggressive but friendly stall count. Rory's excitement was quickly interrupted by fright. A startled scream escaped her throat, an occurrence which effectively silenced Len's counting for a moment and elicited a smattering of laughter among those on the field. If Rory was aware of this, however, she gave no indication. Instead she just remained standing there, as though she were a deer caught in headlights.

Calling on some reserve of energy, Marty dashed ahead of Rory into the end zone just as Len collected himself and resumed the stall count. "Rory!" Marty called, clapping his hands.

She turned away from Len to desperately face Marty. She held the disc as though it were a hot potato that she desperately wanted to be rid of. She wound up to throw but, in all the excitement, her wild throw went wide. Out of Marty's reach, the disc wobbled out of bounds and nose dived into the ground, thus ending the flow of command Marty's team had held on the disc.

"Oh… I suck!" Rory lamented, gasping for breath and wandering over to Marty as Len ran out of bounds to retrieve the wayward disc.

"Don't worry. You're doing great," Marty comforted with a huge grin of pride for her. He gave her a soothing pat on the shoulder. "And the scream was a nice touch."

"I didn't… scream," Rory assured him breathlessly – until sudden uncertainty crossed her face. "Did I?"

"A bit." Marty smiled again and Rory made a face.

"How embarrassing."

"Well, it bought you some time, Len was so surprised, he almost forgot to keep counting!" He gave her a slight pat on the upper arm, careful not to let his touch linger, and then he began to trot away. "Come on! Len's got the disc!"

"Oh geez," Rory moaned. "I don't think my legs," she gasped. "Can run any more." But like a trooper, she began to drag herself after the disc.

_ooo_

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